"Liam Gallagher...?"
That peculiar gait and face were undoubtedly Liam Gallagher's. I couldn't even muster a smile looking at him in those grimy, tattered factory coveralls. The man who had been called the last great rock star of an era in my previous life was now standing before me in a shabby uniform, asking for my autograph.
"May I ask... your name?"
"Liam Gallagher. Just sign it already, Rockstar."
Liam Gallagher spoke to me with a thick, staccato Manchester accent that felt like it was breaking off mid-sentence.
"How... why did you..."
The rock star known as Liam Gallagher was my role model in my past life. Back then, I survived each day listening to Oasis's songs and longing for the chaotic, rebellious life he led.
Liam Gallagher was a self-made myth—born the son of a poor working-class family in Manchester, overcoming his father's domestic violence to become a global legend.
Because I knew that past, I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. This was different from Chris Martin or Sir Paul McCartney. They weren't singers here, but they were living happy lives in their own right.
I had vaguely assumed that those who succeeded in the previous world would naturally enjoy happy lives in this one as well. It might have been a form of self-rationalization, but if I didn't think that way, I felt like I would crumble before even finishing our schedule in the UK.
"Are you... happy, Mr. Gallagher?"
"Dunno why you're askin' such a thing, but yeah, I'm happy. Waking up in the morning is always a joy, isn't it?"
It was the same mantra the Gallagher brothers used to say, and one I had adopted myself: 'Nevertheless, waking up in the morning was always a joy.' The reason I liked him wasn't just because of his voice. It was because I respected his attitude toward life.
"Do you happen to have any siblings?"
"If you're askin' about a brother, I had one..."
The brother he was referring to was definitely Noel Gallagher. But why the past tense? Did they have a falling out and cut ties like in my previous life?
"You 'had' one...?"
"My brother passed away quite a while ago."
I felt my mind go blank at those words. Despite his rough edges, Noel was someone who had lived a relatively steady life compared to his brother. He's been dead for a long time?
I tried to calm my trembling hands and opened my mouth again.
"How...?"
"Just the usual for the Manchester working class. An accident at a construction site."
"Wait here just a moment."
My legs felt weak, as if they would give way, but I managed to steady myself and ran back to the waiting room. Ignoring the worried calls from Yokishi and Shuji, I grabbed a guitar. It was the one I used most frequently on stage.
"This is a guitar I've used quite often."
The guitar I brought out was a 1960 Gibson ES-355. This was the specific model Noel Gallagher had favored in my past life. In that world, he was the guitarist.
Since I had plenty of other guitars anyway, giving this one away wouldn't really affect me.
"I'll take it if you're givin' it, cheers. But why give me somethin' like this?"
"You wouldn't know, but you've helped me before. In a way that a guitar like this could never fully repay."
As I spoke, I handed him my business card. I was a man who had achieved success by stealing Oasis's music. I was trying to erase my guilt in whatever small way I could.
I am a selfish person. Even in this moment, I was extending a helping hand not for them, but for my own peace of mind.
"I don't know why you're bein' so kind, but I don't need that, Rockstar."
He kicked away my reach, making it impossible for me to even maintain my self-rationalization.
"Life's only fun when you carve out your own path with your own hands, after all."
Unlike me, who only dreamed of being a rock star while imitating him, the real Liam Gallagher was more of a rock star than someone like me ever could be—even while wearing those filthy factory clothes.
Feeling inferior to his spirit, I couldn't even meet those blue eyes of his, where the stars were embedded.